The Very Last One
by Jayni
Summary: The Bebop crew has definitely maxed out at four... and a half. Now they have to make a stop. Warning: twisted humour.


"Spike, my man. I know you have to keep in shape… but the sandbag needs a break." Jet moved behind the bag in question to steady it, but Spike didn't stop. He just kept going, and Jet was forced to absorb some of the impact. "Would – you – quit – it!" He didn't want to strong hold his longtime partner, but Spike was incommunicado. Jet pushed back on the sandbag and heard Spike stumbled backwards. Something had gotten under his skin, though Jet was still trying to put his finger on what. Jet peaked around the sandbag to see Spike snapping a towel around his neck. "Want to talk about it?" Spike's answer was to blindly grope for his cigarettes. Jet watched as he lit one and crumpled the pack in his hand. "Did you hear me, Spike?"

"… We have to make a stop." Spike didn't even spare him a glance.

Jet came out from behind the sandbag, running his cool metal finger tips over his scalp. "Business or –"

Spike took a long drag, Jet interrupted by the exhale. Taking the cigarette between his ring and middle finger, he pressed his pointer to his temple and declared, "… this is the last one."

The finality in his tone was not lost on Jet. The ex-cop folded his arms and nodded slowly. A drawn silence between the two. The faint sound of footsteps charging around the ship, followed by an even softer pitter pat… Ed. Ein. Then a loud thump – a foot stomping – and the slam of a door: Faye. "… last one, alright."

"… I gave Faye my other pack." Jet found the crumpled paper foil wrapper floating towards him. His face twisted into a cross of disbelief and aggravation. Spike gave Faye his cigarettes?

"Look, Spike. I wasn't going to say anything, but something just ain't right here –" Jet snatched the pack and balled it up into a misshapen wad with both hands. "'Last one' – here I thought you were talking about our 'guests' –" He looked up to watch Spike disappear around a corner. Jet pushed off the floor and went after him, leaving the wad to suspend in zero gravity. He called after him, "But seems like you're warming up just fine!" They'd been partners for how long? – and they still fought over cigarettes.

"I didn't have a choice! She –" Spike gave up and huffed, pushing off the walls as he made his way down the corridor. "And we don't need any more strays," he said more to himself than to Jet, shaking his head. "Last one – definitely the last one..." Spike's voice faded as he was making his way around a corner. Jet hurried to catch up.

"Look… I'm not any more happy about the situation than you are, it's true, but…" Jet checked around to check for any sign of the girls or the dog, "They aren't so bad. The little ones, anyway. And well... that 'lady' – we'll just have to keep watch on her but," he turned the corner, "We've gained what could be the most infamous child hacker in the universe coding for us, and someone I can play chess with… albeit, two hands versus four paws hardly seems fair." Spike snorted. "It'll take some adjustments. I know. More cigarettes, sure. Food? Few more mouths to starve… big deal." Spike looked over his shoulder at Jet, and they shared a smirk. But a thought crossed Spike's mind, and it showed on his face – the smirk disappeared and he was serious once again.

They'd found themselves back to the couches. Spike laid out on one to finish savoring his last cigarette; Jet sat heavily across from him, "It'll work out. You'll see. Even with that woman on board."

As if on cue, Faye floated her way from the stairwell over to the fridge. As per usual, scamtily clad, with her hair drawn back by a red headband. But something was different. Jet caught it out of the corner of his eye, but waited till her back was turned fiddling with a fridge before he glanced up to confirm. His eyes widened and remained fixed on that spot. Faye glanced over her shoulder, a beer in hand, "It's nothing I'm sure you haven't seen before." Jet opened his mouth to say something – perhaps, to point out the string floating out from between the juncture of her yellow hot pants – but Spike waved him off. Jet swallowed down his words slowly, and trained his eyes on the floor. She stuck her tongue out at Jet over her shoulder and shut the fridge door before heading back to whence she came.

Jet tried to find the words… "Was that…?"

"… Yup." Heavy sigh.

"That was… Does she?"

"I don't know if she knows it is uh - out, but, like I was saying, Jet - about that stop –" Spike sucked on his teeth like something was stuck between them. He looked over at Jet, who was frozen. Perhaps out of pity, he floated the cigarette across to his longtime partner. Jet caught it like a reflex, but the cigarette just burned between his fingers for a very long moment of awkward silence.

"For cigarettes…?" Jet asked – pleaded. He shakily brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag.

"… cigarettes," Spike hissed between his teeth. They caught each other's glance and shuddered briefly. The faint sounds sounded again, footsteps, pitter pats, the occasional yell or slam… but the sounds were coming closer and closer together, promising to be more frequent and a lot less faint. "Race you to the control room?"

Jet nodded emphatically.


End file.
